


Call this my brand of Kindness

by kuro49



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, childhood traumas, yes erik volunteers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 15:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is a volunteer at Kids Help Line. Charles calls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call this my brand of Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> The anon-help-service mentioned in this fic is completely self-created and does not in fact exist, at least not that I know of. By no means is this a correct representation of actual services similar to it. So don't question the authenticity, there is honestly none. (Originally posted at ff.n but promptly forgotten about again.)

Charles is incomplete.

Right after the accident, there has been a sharp pain and darkness that shrouds over him. And then when the narcotics finally hit and everything mellows into soft glows and blurry dreams, trauma begins.

An accident is an accident and he is both the fortunate and the unfortunate one.

His mother has been driving, his father has been in the passenger seat and then his vision blacks out when he hears skidding in his ears. A few months after that, he wakes up to white. Stark sheets and clean walls. They (nurses, he blinks and his eyes hurt, doctors, he swallows but his throat is dry, psychiatric specialists) tell him he is brave and strong and lucky and has woken up months, years, earlier than expectation.

They smile, he clenches his hands in the sheets and they prop him up as he finally finds his voice to ask for a familiar face.

And then they say paragraphs and paragraphs of words wrapped in cotton and make believe. It isn't until he looks up do they finally swallow all the sugar coated tries they want to stuff him full with.

"Your father was pronounced dead when he arrived."

"And my mother?"

"Suicide, two nights ago."

Maybe it hasn't been the best way to break the news to a child, but he can still breathe just fine. There are no hiccups choking up his airway nor are there trembling in his hands. There are only drops after drops of tears that roll off of his cheeks and stain the white sheets. That is the only indication he has heard every last word the doctors has told him.

Three minutes later, when the shock dims by a fraction, Charles F. Xavier, aged 10, learns that he won't ever walk again.

000

Her hair is a dark red and she is wearing skin-tight blue.

"… Raven?"

"Good to know you still recognize your hospital buddy for the past 6 years." She pulls off her oversized sunglasses and peeking out from the layers and layers of bandages, her eyes are gold.

He smiles.

Charles meets Raven Darkholme two weeks after he is transferred from the ICU to the children's ward for long-term care. Raven is a burn victim.

He doesn't ask for details but he has heard all the gossip and rumors that nurses tend to whisper when the children are sleeping in their hospital beds. Right outside the dark rooms, in the bright white hallways: it was Raven's mother who lit the match.

While Raven's father is the one who turned them both in, the one with the self-hatred and pity, and a mangled resemblance of what a shred of a human heart can produce.

Charles doesn't know whether Raven's mom and dad are still locked up for life or whether they have taken an easier way out, much like his own. Raven doesn't say and Charles is grateful when he finds her in the lonely playroom where no one wants to walk near the metal mass that is him in a wheelchair.

Now she is 14 and he is about to turn 17.

She still has therapy every week and he still has physiotherapy every other day in the hospital where they grew up with nurses and doctors in training, who are now doctors and full-fledge nurses. Some comes back, others don't. Still, they are painfully young.

But sometimes, like now, it's hard to remember that fact.

"Charles. I'm your only friend."

She doesn't say it as a criticism and he doesn't take it with contempt.

"Thank you for that."

He is genuinely happy and she is trying to reach out to give him a push.

"I love you." His heart doesn't skip, not because she is not society's perception of beautiful. But because she is his only connection of what family can be. "But I want you to step out of…" she struggles for an appropriate word, "your old life."

She is sitting beside him, on the chairs in front of the elevators where he is due for his physiotherapy in a couple of minutes.

"Are you abandoning me…?" The fear that suddenly surges at him nearly gives him a heart attack. But he should've known, he _should've_ , and now he is going to die of loneliness because she has found a world bigger than what he can ever offer her— "No!"

The tears prick when she turns his head to look at her, white-bandaged hands cupping his cheeks.

There is something fiery in her eyes and he doesn't want to cry in her arms because he should be the one offering comfort and anything else she ever wants or needs. Her voice softens when she raises a hand to brush the tears that threaten to fall.

Raven shakes her head lightly and chastises him.

"Silly Charles. I just want you to find something outside of here. Outside of physiotherapy and reading horribly boring textbooks when you know the content through and through."

He swallows the lump in his throat and relief washes down all the fear and bitter emotions. But his voice is still quiet when he finally asks, like a little child anticipating scolding.

"What do you want me to do?"

And he genuinely doesn't know. Raven nearly tears up in the face of his innocence.

Her eyes glint when she fishes in her pockets (in that blue skin-suit) and he regrets his question almost as impulsive as it comes.

Raven holds up a card. Two lines and a single phone number in the back.

His eyes are round when he finally reads the black letters on the simple business card.

 

_Children's Help Line_

_If you are willing to talk, we are willing to listen._

 

"I'm not a child." He looks up at her, eyes still rimmed with pink. "And I don't need help."

"Charles." She presses the paper-thin card into his hand. "Try. For me."

He looks at her, sees the ring of blue around the gold contacts and sighs when he catches the tiny smile tugging at her lips. "But you owe me."

She grins and instead of that shy and bashful smile, her mouth stretches into a mysterious quirk of lips. "Oh, I might just think again, Charles." She gives a tap of her fingers against her temple.

And then she is standing up and slipping her black shades on over her eyes.

"Ask for Erik. And if he asks, tell him you are Mystique's X."

She crosses her fingers in the mock mannerism of the letter X.

000

"Kids Help Line."

"Oh, um, hello?"

He likes to talk but this is a stranger and it's different, and how is it really possible that he is actually doing this? Charles bites down on his lips.

"This must be your first time?"

Charles opens his mouth, stammers some more and coughs with a nervous energy right into the phone. But the other line remains open and patient and a little too kind. And maybe he is thinking a little too much, thoughts running just a tad bit too wild but he is starting to feel the pity creep in. And really, he has had enough of that. "Uh… um, I was wondering if I could speak to… Erik?"

"Erik? … _Erik_?" There is a faint trace of surprise but also genuine warmth, like the surprise is pleasant and lovely and this is a miracle unfolding right before the… ears. "Hold just a second."

And then there is silence for a short tense moment that leaves Charles feeling stranded and without another breath of air in his lungs.

"Kids Help Line."

He almost chokes before he remembers to breathe out and his voice doesn't sound like him at all when he finally does speak up. "Are you… Erik?" Rather, it is tentative and unsure and border lining on suspicious.

"… Do I know you?"

"Um… I'm Mystique's… X?"

"…" The silence is unnerving and just when Charles is about to burst out with an apology and just simply cut the call, Erik speaks up. "Mystique?"

"Ra—Yes, Mystique."

"Do you prefer… X or something else?"

"Oh! My name is Charles Xavier, please, call me Charles."

"Erik."

"… Nice to meet you, Erik."

He doesn't actually realize but only when his cheeks begin to hurt does he recognize that he is smiling too wide. Charles tries to compose himself. He hasn't realized, not just yet, but this is happiness at its earliest stages.

And people, they always only ever evolve.

000

That is all it takes.

A step forward. A single meticulous step after years of feeling trapped and suffocated and the world is suddenly bigger and even a little brighter around the edges.

But of course, it takes years to undo the past damage.

Charles is almost 27 and Erik is 27 already. And it has been ten years.

X.

Yes. They can be standing fifty more years from now and they will still have all the same scars to show. (The experimental ones all across his back, the surgical markings at the base of his spine.) It is not perfect but it is what defines them into the men that these kids has held the blueprints for, all those years ago when hope is scarce and faith is lost.

Because even if the final knot is undone and smoothed out flat, there are still little imperfections and reminders that make the string dent and bend at strange angles.

But this makes them different and unique.

A one of a kind, one can call it.

Erik gets off the bus and makes his way inside the hospital. "I'm in the lobby." He says with a glance towards the elevator. The white that surrounds him is finally clean and pure, unlike all the days of fear and disinfectant and Doctor—the name of this man has brought bile before but that is _before_ , before he hears Charles' voice over the phone and all else can finally be released from the pain and anger he has held so close to his heart. Even though this isn't the best, it is the closest thing to being forgiving that he can ever do—Shaw.

Particular.

"I'm coming right down." Charles says into the cell phone as he attempts to button his cardigan with one hand. He still can't feel his legs and his parents are still dead. But a little part of him has been lay to rest, six feet beneath the first layer of soil, because he is alive and Raven and Erik are too. "Ding—!"

The elevator pops open and Charles wheels himself in.

Perfect.

XXX Kuro


End file.
